Some Kind of Stranger
by Aithilin
Summary: All debts and deals eventually come due.


**Title:** Some Kind of Stranger

**Author:** Aithilin  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre:** general  
**Pairing:** N/A  
**Warnings:** Gross misappropriation of the Faustus story?  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or original works that inspired this, and I am not making money from this.  
**Summary:**All debts and deals come due.

The village cats gathered in the castle ruins in the same way the city Jellicles converged on junkyards and alleyways. It hadn't been something she expected to see or experience after leaving the city and the adventure of the Thames behind. Yet, she preferred the ruins, really, with the smells of the not-too-distant sea beyond the village blown in on the wind. It was a calm place, with a history she learned through the humans who toured the paths during the day. It was quite lovely when the sun was peeking around the walls and through the gaping wounds in the stone.

There was neither an air of mystery, nor danger lurking in every shadow (despite the tales of ghosts the elder cats dreamed up for Ball stories to tell the kittens). No great adventurers or villains to come in and disrupt the final choice of which cat was to be reborn. The gathering itself was a far lighter affair than anything the Jellicles had thrown in the ark parts of the city. A party, really. Every year. And a new cat, queen or tom, would be rejuvenated in the ruins, found a new home, and given a second life free of debts accumulated.

No one knew her in the village. No one ever thought to ask about her. She had come when her youth was waning and her fur had finally dried from her swim in the river. She had come with her own stories and treasures and bribed the Railway Cat to let her pass unnoticed in the baggage cars. She had come to the village when she was still fresh from adventure, and caught up in the retellings of everything that had happened in London. Though she never told her own story, in the end.

Yet, her story had arrived well before she did— it was the nature of her own debt, really. She had wished for infamy and a long life to enjoy it all. In a place like the sprawling city, where a young cat could be lost to the anonymity, it had seemed like the only way for her name to last. She wasn't pinned in it— no one in a seaside town, surrounded by farmland could possibly recognize the idea of pirates on a city river, and have a collective memory of the queen who brought it all down— but it still managed to spread among the community as a rumour and legend of the adventure of the city. She changed her name, let her pristine coat collect the dust of a mouser in a village manor, and nearly forgot her own part in the legend.

It was just another silly dance for the actors in the Ball. And, the Griddlebone of this year's version of the story was a rather sleek calico. The 'pirates' were all kittens playing pretend, though a little tux with a red bit of cloth for a cap seemed to lead the fray. She tried to ignore that kitten as often as possible.

He was new in the village, and a lovely dancer.

The kitten unnerved her. He was eager to play the roles of the ghosts, and the pirates— the only one not startled by a sudden flash of light here or strange noise there.

She kept her distance this year. Settled on a ledge in the stone, just in view of the gathering but far enough to still enjoy the sight of the lit village below the shadow of the ruined castle, she watched, and hoped, and tried to think of what caused other cats to be chosen for redemption while she was overlooked.

"Evening, beautiful."

There were plenty of strange cats at the gathering. Most came from the farms, strangers passing through, the very few who couldn't quite fit into the village community. That unnerving kitten who had shown up only a few days ago. But this one, a long limbed Maine Coon with far too much fluff to be as dignified as he managed, was a far worse vision than a vaguely familiar kitten.

"So the castle ghosts are real?"

He adopted a roguish grin and pulled himself up to the ledge with her. "You can feel me, sweetheart. Warm and soft and all the right kinds of alive."

"Then I'm imagining you."

"Got a date with that cute little clock shop dame later. Ask her if I'm real."

She straightened, sitting now, rather than lounging. It had been years, lifetimes, but she knew that look, that smile, that playful drawl, and the inviting smell of the tom before her. "The Tum Tugger I knew was older than I was, back then. He'd be dead now."

"_Rum _Tum Tugger, love. Called that for a reason, you know. And tonight's a Ball, so it calls up all sorts of strange things."

"You're too young to be him."

"You're sweet."

"Then how-"

"Think you're the only one who wanted to live forever, sweet?" That grin again, sharp and playful at the same time. The Tugger stretched and waved to one of the kittens in the crowd who had started to wander over, but not _the_ kitten. "I just figured it out before you. But we have to talk business."

"There is no business." She pulled her dignity around her like armour, and called up the air of who she used to be. That lovely image of desire that brought jaded captains to their knees. "It was finished years ago."

"Haven't really paid yet, pet. It's come due."

"I might be chosen."

"You really think so? That'd be a sight." He leaned forward to steal a kiss. "Dance with me later, beautiful."

She watched him sweep the enamoured kitten up and back into the party. He stole the spotlight as often as possible, even the young vicarage cat caught up in the games and oblivious to the little tux slinking off to the shadows with the youngest of the talent while the larger tom stole the show. The moon was rising, and she could see things already being drawn to a close. Leaving the ledge, she let herself be pulled back into the gathering, back into the community.

—

It was a barn cat who was chosen, in the end. He had lived a good, full life, despite a few transgressions when a fox had come to hunt years ago. He had been pulled away, and emerged a stumbling, mewling thing the Baker's Cat adopted. The magic dissipated at the village cats started to separate again. The energy of the night would last at least another day, but the main event was finished, and everyone had a home to get to. The village below the ruins was dark now, but still invited them home— back to the warmth of beds and dinners and the humans.

She had danced too much. Twisted or pulled something during the night. By the end, it had left her winded and pained, sheltered in her favourite corner off the path. She rested there, a bundle of white in the shadows, and decided to wait until dawn.

She had seen the tux wander off, comforted by the idea that it was just a familiar kitten from the village she hadn't bothered with. She had seen Tugger spirit away the lovely queen who watched the clock shop in town, and knew that he'd be away for hours. She knew that she had been forgiven her debt, even if she hadn't been reborn. The sense of freedom that offered her was almost enough to give her back her breath.

Though it was still a very hot night, almost oppressive. Odd that she hadn't noticed it before. She could have sworn it was chilly just an hour ago.

"Ready for that dance, beautiful?"

In the night, through the dark, she could just make out the flash of rogue grin. "Only if you use my name. My real name, handsome."

She thought he must have wandered back to check on the area. The Tugger she remembered had been quite a gentleman, really. All sweetness and fun. Promises and dances. This tom could have been his twin. But she had only been a kitten when she saw Tugger for the first time in London. A silly little thing who believed you could deal away souls and life.

A small, chaste kiss and she got her breath back. She pulled him with her to where the party had just ended— the wide, open space where the village cats had shared a night.

"Time to dance, Griddlebone."


End file.
